


I Know That I Can Heal

by wirewrappedlily



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reese will care for everyone if given the chance, and he barely acknowledges it when he's taking care of Finch, he's a trained-to-kill teddy bear, he's just being a dummy and pushing himself too hard, hurt!Finch, i would hug you you little bastard but you're fictional and you'd kill me, just does it and doesn't do or say a damn thing to point it out or to make it overt, only he already had the wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wirewrappedlily/pseuds/wirewrappedlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We all need help sometimes, Finch. I'm just glad I got here soon enough to help you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know That I Can Heal

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my angel, who I accidentally smuggled onto this ship with me while I was trying to explain to my mother why I started writing fanfiction about a show she got me started on (hi, mom!). Enjoy, lovelies.

Harold Finch was a man of simple pleasures. He got the best of his pleasures, but they weren't insane. The amount of pain he'd been afflicted with measured him some small amount in reward. 

He'd pushed himself too far, it seemed. His leg was seizing to the point where he wasn't sure if he would be able to keep the slipping threads of consciousness for much longer. His medication was out of reach in the main room of the library from where he'd fallen to the bathroom floor, and there was no one for him to call out to. He knew that Bear was outside the door, whining to come in because he smelt Harold's distress. Harold wasn't sure when Bear's whines cut off, but in the next moment, the door opened and John's hands were helping him up, supporting him. Finch was naked, damp from the shower, and he just wanted to hide. "Harold--Harold, breathe as easily as you can. Calm down." John supported him all the way to his medications, measuring them out in front of him and giving them to him with water, managing to support him still. John helped him to the couch, wrapping him up in a blanket and kneeling in front of him. John studied the scars running over Finch's pale thigh, and Finch stopped breathing as his worn hands started to rub the scarring, right where the seizing was. There was a hot flare of pain, and then the pain subsided, his hand clawing at John's shoulder for a second in shock before he relaxed, whimpering. "It's okay--It's okay. I'd ask if you'd had full physical therapy, but the answer to that is obvious. You should be continuing it, though. You've been getting the exercise, but you've neglected the follow-up. I can help with that, but you might want a professional." 

Finch couldn't help deflating with his pain subsiding, "Mr. Reese…" 

"We all need help sometimes, Finch. I'm just glad I got here soon enough to help you." John dismissed the apology or gratitude that was on Finch's lips without even looking up from manipulating Finch's muscles. "I hate to press it, Finch, but you do really need to take care of your leg if you're going to work in the field." 

"I do take care of myself, Mr. Reese--" 

"I have no doubt, Harold, but what would you say if it had been you finding me like this? I need you to be safe, Harold. I deeply appreciate it when you do field work; but I need you to be as safe as possible." 

"Mr. Reese, I can assure you that this will never happen again." 

"What would have happened if I hadn't come? If you'd lost consciousness, naked, on the bathroom floor? You have trouble with your breathing in any case, you can't risk pneumonia. _I_ can't let you risk it." 

Harold took a deep breath, "Mr. Reese--I'm sorry. I-If you are serious about...aiding me in my physical therapy, I would be most appreciative." 

John finally did look up, his lips twitching, "You're a very private person, Finch. Thank you for letting me help you, thank you for agreeing to take help." 

"If our situations were reversed, John, I'm not sure I would give you much of a choice." Finch admitted as John's hands finished with his leg, his medication kicking in to do the rest. 

"That works out: I doubt I'd make the right choice." 

Finch's lips twitched, and he rested his hand on John's shoulder, closeness settling into him. "I do trust you, John." 

"Good: because my life is in your hands every day, Harold. There isn't a lot that I care about, but you're at the top of the list, and I'm not sure losing you is something I could stand." 

"I feel the same about you, to be quite honest. It's what's brought me into the field so much. I've never been much for friendship, I've lost most everyone I've ever cared about. Grace was someone I could save by leaving, so I lost her, too." 

"So you stick close to me, and save me by staying." John nodded once, his voice soft and understanding, "I will do everything in my power to keep us both safe." 

Bear chose that moment to trot up with Finch's pile of clothes in his jaws, dropping them in Finch's lap and leaping slightly to get his front paws on the couch, butting his head against Finch's chest. 

"I knew to come because Bear knocked onto your line, and I was still listening. I told you he'd be good for you." 

Finch barked a laugh, fiddling with the clothes he'd left folded on the bathroom counter awaiting him--still loosely folded, if somewhat slobbered. "Thank you, Bear." Finch looked into John's eyes, "Thank you, John. You've saved my life quite a bit, now, and Bear is one of your more subtle saves." 

"Subtlety, Harold? Me? You must be mistaken." John chortled dryly. Finch's look told him exactly what he thought of John's deflection, and John smiled slightly, "Bear needed a home, and you needed a friend. At the time, as much as I was a friend, I also was still your employee, and had a job to do, without you. You needed someone by your side." 

"Someone you knew I would be comfortable with being weak around, meaning someone who couldn't judge me." 

"If Bear hadn't presented himself, I might've considered a cat, but it would judge you for being a bad hunter and leave dead birds to make sure you were looked after." 

Finch cracked into laughter, dangerously on the verge of tears, "I don't like cats. Ever since I was young and my great-aunt was eaten by her cat before her body was discovered." 

"Never considered hungry cats as a means of body disposal." 

"Most never do."

"Especially not most cat owners, I would imagine." 

John stood up, summoning Bear to him to give Finch privacy while he dressed, praising him for being a good dog and giving him treats. "Did you turn off the shower?" Finch couldn't remember if he had or not, was in a blur if John had. 

"I did, yes." Finch felt his ears turn red, his eyes unwilling to meet John's no matter how hard he tried. When he went to move to the desk, though, John was in his way, crossing his arms over his chest with a look of stony determination if Finch could read his lack of expression correctly. "You almost passed out, you need to sit for a little while--not at a desk. Even your brain needs time to recuperate. You ran after a rogue car today: more work is the last thing you need to do." Finch scowled, but John held firm until he sat on the couch again. "What were you thinking, anyway?" 

"That you were in a vehicle in which the brakes had been cut, headed for a potentially fatal crash." Finch snarked, one brow raising. 

"I was, yes. And you getting there as fast as you could, had I been grievously injured, would have helped my chances of escaping the car if it blew. You should have known, though: you were in danger, too. I had to make it out, if only to make sure that you were kept safe." John's mouth twitched, "It's less become about my survival, and more about getting out of my own messes to make sure you're alright." 

"Well, that's very honourable, but I can handle myself." 

"What I'm most worried about is you, though, Harold. Do not push yourself to injury for my sake. I will do my best, in all situations, to make it back to you--" 

"I came to that rooftop...when you were wearing that explosive vest fit to blow, because I didn't see any way of doing this without you, Mr. Reese. Injury can be mended; threat can be diverted. But if I leave you...to die...if I take that chance, you will be yet another person I've let slip through my fingers. I can take injury, John, but loss is not something I'm willing to repeat." 

"Then I would like you to be wearing a vest, and to start carrying something to defend yourself with. For my peace of mind. And since I'll be helping you with your leg, I can see what I can do about making it any less damaging." 

"Physical therapy never popped up in your background check." Finch commented dryly. 

"No, because it wouldn't. I was injured during my time with the CIA. I learned how to care for it on the move." 

"And never reported it?" 

"I found desk work downright treacherous. All those paper cuts and typer's cramps…" John threw him a teasing grin, and Finch snorted, rolling his eyes, "you're brave enough being here, Finch. I couldn't be. Not for long." 

"Is that why you insist I go out with you when we don't have a number?" 

"Yes, actually. That, and I enjoy your company. When ever and wherever I can get it." 

"That's dangerously close to flattery, John." 

"For good reason, Harold. Now: I know you haven't eaten, because you were cleaning up to do that. I can make you something, or we can go somewhere. You aren't, however, getting rid of me just yet." 

"Want to keep a watchful eye?" Finch prodded with a snide twist in his voice. 

"More that I'd like to make sure the guys that tried to blow me up didn't catch your scent. I was trying to find those last three when Bear called for me." 

"Goons would quite ruin my dinner plans, yes. Alright, let's go. We can bring a doggie bag of steak back for Bear. The good stuff, for a good dog. Stop looking so smug, Mr. Reese, your play there could have ended in anaphylaxis." 

"Instead, it ends in belly rubs and unconditional love." 

"Don't go too sentimental, Mr. Reese, or it might yet end in anaphylaxis." 

"I'm not allergic to feelings, Finch, just unnecessary excesses of them." 

"You must be coming up with hives, then." 

"I believe this excess was necessary, Finch: we take care of each other, because we're more family than either of us has."

"Downright mawkish."

"You can ruin the moment all you want, Finch, I'm still coming to dinner with you." 

"A mandated evening out for the two of us--" 

"The date is next week when I work up the courage. If this were a date, Finch, I'd be playing by a whole different set of rules, and it would _end_ with nudity, not begin with it." 

John caught Finch's elbow as he swayed slightly, his face burning, hailing a cab with a smarmy smile, like a challenge. Finch was fairly sure he could change the rules of engagement, but he caught himself wondering why on earth he would want to.

**Author's Note:**

> Fifty points to the house of whosoever can name the song that inspired this title and the title of the not-really-a-prequel-but-along-the-same-page, When You Lay Your Hands On Me.


End file.
